Bore Spirit & Stoic Den

My heart reeks of selective compassion
A grey charcoal laden heftiness
paves the path, singular choice in selection
Scentless thoughts, monochrome voice
Reckoning occluded, I hear no noise.

Petrified of these new beings, they entice,
Read my limpid soul, the period is a bliss
Sudden realization of a veil crossed
Oh now they are an apparition,
hands disappear, they overcome me
And move on.

I stay, I hope, I return, I bore
Cardinal sin of disinterest I tore
A moment of benign feelings expressed
They don't prefer pervasive honesty
This inexplicable need for love
It is a weakness I'm told, hold it
inside, anomalous those who show it.

Now the sand glass is drained and split
Time is thrown out of the stained window
We are abstained, gagged and frozen
Living a sadist fantasy, sad and sullen
I tell them to not stop feeling and show
A dour place where pent up rivers flow.

Afraid of their naked self in the open
Self preservation only in this stoic den
It all combines, is it a crime to be doting
Convoking the kindred spirits, few flying
into the wild, only they will not ignore
As I perceive sometimes, I'm a door or a bore.